


Learning to Trust - Goniff

by DixieDale



Category: Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 19:16:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14625279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: The journey will be a long one, particularly with the start he had.





	Learning to Trust - Goniff

They weren't new dreams, not by any means - dreams of being chased, dreams of running frantically, endlessly, being chased by unknown people or maybe things. Goniff had heard that was one of the most common of bad dreams; still, he'd have happily done without the experience. Now, after arriving at Sing Sing and finding his precarious way, thinking he had a chance of surviving, he'd encountered the Marston bunch, organized and led by one Shiv Marston, newly arrived and self-proclaimed 'King Marston', well, the dreams had new faces attached. After all, Marston hadn't gotten his nickname without reason, and for once Goniff hadn't been able to get on the good side of those in power, not without accepting a place in the scheme of things he'd do a hell of a lot to avoid. Oh, the warden there wasn't such a bad sort, as wardens went anyway, and tried to keep things in hand, but there were some here who probably, no, surely, belonged in other prisons, maybe even in institutions for the criminally insane. Goniff had encountered those, knew who to avoid at all costs.

Marston's arrival changed the balance of things, and suddenly the warden wasn't as much in control as he thought he was. Thing was, Marston wasn't crazy, not like some of the more obvious guys; just ask him; that is, you could ask him if you wanted to die, hard and fast. He just had an overwhelming need to be in control of everyone and everything in what he felt was 'his territory'. He controlled the warden's office to some degree, by means of controlling the clerks who worked there and the communications lines by controlling the switchboard operators, and by knowing just what to say to the warden, how to con him quite fluently. The infirmary doctors and interns were wary of getting on his bad side, made their reports, hell, even their treatment based on orders from Marston; the guards were just as wary, at least most of them, of getting on his bad side so he got his way most of the time there as well. Funny, that one guard who wasn't having any of that, he got knifed, supposedly by that one inmate who also wasn't going to kowtow to Marston, him dying in the attempt as well. Funny how that turned out.

So, okay, maybe Marston was a little crazy, though Goniff wasn't intending to be the one to break the news to him; being King could do that to a person, even if he hadn't had the tendency when he arrived, which he did. You could ask anyone in the old neighborhood. He took what he wanted, decided who could team up, who had to run as lone wolves, and everyone knew you had to be one big mean s.o.b. to survive as a lone wolf in these halls for very long.

Well, that wasn't what Goniff was; he was a small statured man, maybe a hundred thirty pounds soaking wet when he was well-fed which wasn't the case in here. He had always made his way by being cheerful, helpful, friendly, by providing services in the way of slight of hand, acting the fool when necessary. Made his living by that same slight of hand, some second story work, all the tricksey finger stuff. Here, there was little need of that; Marston got whatever he wanted just by demanding it.

So, just as the King did eventually with all the prisoners, long-time residents and newcomers, he evaluated Goniff to see what place he could fit in the system, and Goniff hadn't liked his ideas one little bit. He could still remember that little dictate, "We don't need a pickpocket, that's for damn sure! Still, got just the right place for you, little man, you'll fit in just fine," all with a smug look on that ugly face. "You're gonna be our new bike, since Cody decided to leave us so sudden-like. Yeah, you're gonna fit in just fine!"

Goniff didn't faint right then and there, figuring he didn't want to start his new 'career' right away; in fact, didn't want to start his new career at all. Cody had decided he just couldn't take being everybody's 'bike' anymore, and had gotten hold of a shiv and ended it all. Goniff saw his options were basically being fucked to death or getting his throat slit, and was considering the second at least a less painful and quicker way to die.

His big chance had been that parole hearing later in the day, and he'd had hopes; as far as anyone had told him, Marston didn't control that small group. When the young Army Lieutenant had killed his chances for that, Goniff figured it was the same as killing him; the small Englishman swore he saw his whole life flash before his eyes. 

When he was called to the warden's office, heard the offer Garrison presented to him, he didn't hesitate. He didn't care about the details; didn't believe the offer of a parole, didn't even think about or really even listen to all that was being said. He'd heard enough; he'd heard an offer to be out of here, away from Marston and all the King's plans for him. When the warden offered to 'keep him here til you're ready for him," he'd almost panicked, looking at the young officer with pleading eyes. He wouldn't be alive when Garrison returned, whenever that was; that much he was sure of; Marston would consider it a sign of weakness to let that happen after he'd already assigned Goniff a position in the hierarchy.

Those bright green eyes looked at him, assessing, thinking, but the Lieutenant had thanked the warden but said, "no, I'll take him with me; I don't think he'll give me any trouble." Goniff had sat there sweating while the warden tried to talk him out of it, warned him to be careful, that Goniff was a tricky one, slippery as a fox, but thankfully the officer hadn't changed his mind. Goniff had been a little surprised at that, both sides of it. The warden had always seemed a rather easy-going bloke, a reasonable sort, not the sort to spike a fellow's chances; he figured Marston must have dropped a word or two there. The officer, now that was more than odd; it was almost like the strictly businesslike man had realized what might happened, though that couldn't have been the case. Well, how could he have known?

Goniff had been so relieved when the warden finally gave in, he hadn't even tried to get away. Well, to be honest, he'd been so worn down from the lack of food (since Marston had made sure to cut into his rations heavily, thinking to make him more amenable when he was told of his new role since it came with extra privileges including more food) and the easing of the ongoing tension and the need to be constantly vigilent, he was more than happy to just lean back and let things happen around him; he spent most of the road trip in a light doze, coming out of it only to eat ravenously whatever the officer put in front of him, relieve himself when facilities were available, and then doze again. During the periods he was awake he'd notice the young officer looking at him, as if puzzled at this seemingly boneless man huddled in the corner, but he didn't get any questions, only a surprising amount of crisp yet not unkind consideration.

Later, at Attica, he was joined by a sullenly quiet young man, and something in those dark eyes struck a chord inside the older Englishman. He knew here was another one who'd fought to keep from being a victim; yes, they obviously handled it differently, tried to protect themselves in different ways, but here was someone Goniff thought he could understand. He didn't try to brace the young man, try to jockey for position, just played his usual friendly self with whatever energy he could muster, though his friendly overtures didn't have any response. Well, that was alright; as long as the young man knew Goniff wasn't a threat, that was enough for now. 

Two more stops, three more men added to their interesting little group. The other three, now they were quite different, both from the young Indian and from each other. The con man was one of the toffs, superior in attitude and action, though Goniff thought being a resident of Alcatraz would have taught him he wasn't all that. Didn't seem to have done so, though, and the man acted almost as if he were the Lieutenant's willing partner, not just one of the other prisoners. Goniff just mentally shrugged; he figured that could get annoying, but for now he had much more to be concerned with.

The safecracker out of Levenworth, Casino, he was gruff and rough-toned, but Goniff didn't sense danger from him, not in the same way as Wheeler, no, not at all.

Wheeler, the 'wheel man' was just trouble waiting to happen; Goniff had heard of him, the man had passed through Sing Sing before being shipped to Alcatraz, had a reputation that meant he would have been tailor made for working with Marston, except he'd left before Marston got there. He supposedly was a bully, fast with his fists, eager to take whatever he wanted, and he wanted pretty much whatever he saw. Liked to prey on those smaller than him, especially the young ones. Seems he had a weakness for blonds, though he'd make do with whatever was available; Goniff didn't know if those preference applied to those of the female persuasion too, but it didn't really seem relevant to his situation so he didn't give it much consideration.

He did give some thought to his own situation, however, and he didn't much like the looks of it. Well, Goniff wasn't all that much younger, but he certainly looked it, and the blond part came naturally. Yeah, Goniff figured he'd be watching his back; he hesitated, but finally slipped a word to the one who was called Chief, getting a steady unemotional look, then a nod of that dark head.

"Figures," and the much younger man started to turn away, then glanced back, and a reluctant, "thanks". Goniff just shrugged, "think nothing of it, mate; just figured you might not've 'eard," passing it off as casual. Well, it hadn't been; Goniff tried to stay out of other people's business, had all he could do to manage his own, but found as much as he didn't want to be Wheeler's victim, he also didn't much fancy the thought of this withdrawn young man being that either. And, wouldn't hurt to have more than one keeping an eye on the big man with the big mouth.

He figured Casino didn't have anything much to worry about; Wheeler wasn't likely to try someone as capable with his fists as the safecracker seemed to be. He wondered briefly if he should tip the Warden, but decided against it; {"ruddy screws are pretty much alike all over; doubt 'e'd care much bout us, and can't see Wheeler being stupid enough to try for 'im, even with that blond 'air and those pretty green eyes. Probably just think I was trying to cause trouble; might even send me back,"} suppressing a shudder at the returning vision of Marston and his crew greeting him as he walked back through those gates at Sing Sing. Still, maybe with him and the younger man keeping an obvious watch on Wheeler, the others would take the hint. Not surprisingly, that's exactly what happened, and Wheeler found himself stymied at every turn, much to his disgruntlement.

While the Mansion was a truly ugly old house, ugly in the way only the wealthy could manage, and while their living conditions weren't a hell of a lot better than before, and the food was of limited quantity and not particularly appetizing, there were fewer crowded into the space, and except for Wheeler, everyone got along reasonably well. And after that first mission, Wheeler hadn't been a problem any more, him thinking to brace Chief about all that lovely counterfeit money. Turns out Chief was every bit as good with a knife as he'd claimed.

The training, well, some was interesting, some exhausting, and some he had to really work at - partly because some of it just wasn't what he was naturally good at, but partially to achieve a balance between what he showed and what he kept hidden. He'd already figured what masks he should be wearing - slightly clumsy, not overly bright, not too knowledgeable, cheery, cocky, but definitely a rather cowardly man who just happened to possess the skills the Lieutenant was looking for. He was aiming for something that would make him acceptable to have around, not a threat to anyone, useful, but not someone the Lieutenant or the others would expect to depend on in a dangerous situation, or heaven forbid, expect to take a lead position; luckily, Actor had cast himself in that second-in-command position right from the start, and Goniff was more than content with that since the con man was actually good at the job.

Some areas he had to focus on to keep his talents well hidden; he'd learned a long time ago that cheery and dumb got him a lot more in the way of protection than most anything else, and to his mind, protection included being considered harmless, no threat. So, he usually closed his eyes on the firing range, dropped the knife half the time in the hand-to-hand, never seemed to master those special punches Garrison and the Sergeant Major seemed to favor. Well, he didn't have the strength in his hands for the latter anyway, so he wasn't really pretending there; besides, fine thing if he was to break his fingers when he'd be needing them in working order; he'd seen more than one in his line of work get sidelined permanently due to such injuries.

He let himself shine on the pickpocketing, though, and the walls, and the second story work; he let himself gradually 'learn' all the cons and tricks they were trying to teach him, some of which actually were new to him, though many weren't. He might not use them much in his line of work, but, really, wasn't like he'd been sitting with his thumbs in his ears for the past thirty some odd years! Well, had to recognize them if someone was trying to con him, now didn't he?

He sometimes laughed to himself about how Actor, the self-proclaimed art expert, just accepted Goniff's ignorance in that area; just showed how good his own con was, though, when Actor had heard his stories about shifting heisted antiques and such - how he could have managed that if he knew nothing about the product, well, that was a mystery. Sometimes he wondered if Actor would ever catch on, or if the tall con man's highly-elevated opinion of himself would somehow prevent that.

Casino? Well, the safe-cracker's work was somewhat akin to Goniff's own; in fact, he'd hoped for training in that area when he'd been younger, but that hadn't worked out. Still, he was watchful now, trying to unobtrusively learn as much as he could from one he could see really knew what he was doing.

Chief, now, his specialty was the rough and tumble, especially with the knife; that was interesting, the long-distance stuff, but if he tried learning that, Goniff was worried he'd be found out, just how much he knew about the other, so he watched, but didn't really dare practice, and that was essential to the craft. Maybe someday.

The Lieutenant? Well, he was an odd one - yelled at them, but usually with a reason. Didn't take his fists to any of them, except that one time with Wheeler, which was really not like the other soldier boys Goniff had encountered. Seemed like he breathed 'officer', yet there was something underneath, something that tickled at Goniff's mind; made him wonder if the young lieutenant didn't wear a few masks of his own. Like that first con, the test with that funny money; Garrison hadn't even really gotten mad, just taken the money and burned it. Sometimes Goniff wondered who'd been conning who that night.

Now, it was extra food when it could be managed, nights at the pub on occasion, though hard riding on the training and such. And on missions, of course, it was all business, well, on the Lieutenant's side anyway. Goniff was getting more and more comfortable, with Garrison and the other men, to the point of letting his guard down just a little, maybe having a little fun; still, he knew he couldn't trust any of these men, not really trust them to have his back. Never had had that, not ever; no reason to think he would now. {"Shame, though,"} he sometimes thought in the night as he lay on that cot, {"would've been nice."} He went to sleep sometimes thinking of a place where he didn't have to constantly be on guard, having someone close he didn't have to be on guard against, somewhere he'd be wanted just because he was him, Goniff, not the useful tool, (useful fool) - 'the pickpocket', the 'squirrel'; well, everyone had dreams, even little Cockney pickpockets.

He was surprised when one of his dreams took an odd turn. There he was, as usual, running away from someone, something, when that someone turned into Shiv Marston and his gang. That failed to lower his anxiety level, understandably, but that wasn't the shock; what was, was turning the corner and finding that green-eyed Army Lieutenant, just watching him calmly, questioningly, as if wondering where Goniff was headed in such a panic. He'd been running too fast to stop, just sort of skidded past the blond man; he'd looked back over his shoulder, half expecting Garrison to have joined Marston in the pursuit. He had NOT been expecting Garrison to brace Marston, plant him a right facer, sending the King crashing to the floor, the others just stopping in confusion and backing off, then all just fading away. Garrison had turned then, looked Goniff square in the eye, and nodded firmly, just once, as if saying, "there, that's taken care of."

Well, in thinking it over the next day Goniff decided that made some sense, since it was Garrison who kept Goniff out of Marston's hands by snatching him out of Sing Sing. Still, it had been odd. Maybe that was the point when a faint thread of trust started to form. That mission where Garrison stepped in to save Chief's neck, that had impressed the Englishman, made him think maybe the Lieutenant might even do the same for him, for the rest of the men; he wasn't going to stake his life on it, but it did give him room for thought, maybe for a little bit of hope.

The rest, though, all that was what made little sense to the pickpocket when he stopped to think about it. Time went by, and thread upon thread of trust joined together, built up, til eventually there was a net, first with widespread mesh so there was some support but also big wide dangerous gaps you could step into without knowing, so you had to be careful, watchful, sometimes having to catch yourself at the last minute to keep from falling through, but gradually that net becoming more and more solid til it was something warm and strong and supportive.

It wasn't all big stuff; in fact, for the most part it wasn't. It was Casino heckling him while he cheated at solitaire, calling him a 'little Limey', or frequently, a 'dumb Limey' but with that hint of something in his voice, whether it be acceptance, or amusement; yelling at him and chasing him around the room, threatening him when Goniff first decided he was comfortable in playing a little practical joke on him. But also stepping in between when that mug of a guard decided to try out his knuckles on the slender Englishman's ribs just because he felt like it, but acting like it was nothing personal, like the guard was just getting on his nerves or something. Again, it was Casino, putting himself at risk on that London job, putting his life on the line to get a warning to Goniff, a warning that saved Goniff from ending up floating in the river.

It was Casino and Chief, talking him awake from one of his nightmares, without laughing at him or yelling at him for waking them up, then not insisting on talking about it, just laying back down and going to sleep, like it hadn't been anything special. It was Chief not getting upset when Goniff started calling him 'Chiefy', even getting that tiny quirk at the side of his mouth like he might like it. Chief who watched Goniff's back, but refused to cut him any slack either, treating him just like he would any other man, expecting him to do his share, holding him responsible for his screwups, not acting like his size made him somehow less capable, like less should be expected of him. That meant something, that did, after a lifetime of being treated like he was less, just because he was short and skinny.

Actor was more subtle; well, he would be, wouldn't he? Oh, there was the blatant scorn for someone less educated, less cultured, less capable, but Goniff could hardly take offense at that since Actor treated them all that way, and especially since Goniff was working so hard at projecting that image. Well, even if he hadn't been doing all that masking, his real self, whoever the hell that was, wouldn't have measured up to Actor's standards by a long shot anyway. It was more that, in spite of how much better Actor seemed to think he was, not just better than Goniff, but Chiefy and Casino, perhaps even the Lieutenant, when one of them was hurt, Actor was there, his hands strong and careful and gentle. It was Actor, leading the way, trusting Goniff to pull off that first con, the test of their new Warden, there in that burned out building with the counterfeit money, with that brief nod of approval after it was all over with. It was Actor who seemed to understand that the compulsion to snaffle any shiny, sparkly piece of glittery was nigh on irresistible; not that he didn't get annoyed when it happened and caused problems, just that he understood it wasn't really a conscious decision much of the time.

The Warden's sister, Lynn, now that was something else. She trusted him, but he knew part of that was because of the masks; he just seemed more harmless, less of a possible threat than the others, and if he was pleased at her trust and her liking, partly because it meant the masks were working, and because he truly liked the kind, capable young woman, still part of him shook his head at the image he could see she had of him.

{"Lovely. Wouldn't it be interesting to meet a woman who liked me for some reason other than because they saw me as totally harmless and ineffectual? Even the whores, it's the ones who either like to mother you, or those who like to prey on the young helpless ones, unless it's the ones who don't give a tinker's damn about who they're servicing, just do the job, get it over with, and don't that make for a cold bed."}

He wasn't sure what he was missing, but he'd seen the interaction between other men and the ladies, and there was sometimes something there he hadn't experienced, some unspoken acknowledgement of sorts. Well, he'd never had that, not come close to it, not with the ladies, and sure as hell not with the blokes he'd been coerced into doing on occasion; that wasn't his thing, but he'd learned fighting too hard could get you too dead or wishing you were, so he picked his battles.

That was another thing he'd like to see an end to, thought it would be remarkably nice to have it be him making some of the decisions on all that for once - the who, when, how and all the rest. There was one bloke back years ago who shared, "you wanta be in control? Hell, that's what the kids are for!" and Goniff went sick and ice cold inside at the thought. That one, he had an accident one night, fell on a knife, and amazingly no one really missed him all that much.

Then, after slipping away from the big house one morning while everyone else had been otherwise occupied, he decided to explore outside the wall and found the Cottage. Nothing special about it, just a small cottage with a tall stone wall around the back, black metal grid gate. He had been easing around the back, seeing what was there, when he heard the music, then the soft female voice singing. Somehow, he found himself moving til he found the spot where he could hear best, and stayed there til she stopped and he heard a door closing inside the walled off area. He topped the wall and found a spot back in the shadows where he knew he wouldn't be seen and took a look. {"Peaceful looking place,"} he thought, seeing the neat vegetable garden laid out in beds, the small round table and two chairs off to the side, flowering trees at the back, flowers here and there, waist-high sundial in the center, realizing it was really three cottages enclosed within that wall.

He left, but found himself coming back when he took one of his ambles away from the Mansion. Sometimes she was there, sometimes not, and if she wasn't, he didn't stay long. But if he was lucky, she'd be there, and sometimes she'd sing, or sometimes sit at the table and do something with that pad and pencils, sometimes talking to herself, and he found himself getting caught up in her conversations, some of them quite odd, some of them not even in English, but sometimes he'd get the drift of those too, somehow. 

Today, he'd drifted away from the big house early on, and ended up on the wall watching for her. He could tell she was here, had been in the garden; the table had a notepad, pens and a saucer, and as he was looking, trying to take in the whole, the door to the cottage opened and she came back out with a steaming cup in one hand, and handled wicker basket in the other. He smiled at the sight, taking in the neat gathered ankle-length skirt and shirtwaist top, slippers, her dark red hair in a long braid at one side.

Shrinking back even futher into the shadows he watched as she pulled clippers from her pocket and started gathering things from the garden beds, talking to herself all the while about what she was gathering and how she intended to use it. Frankly, she was making him hungry, all that talk about "the spinach, sliced into strips and sauteed, I think. I've the garlic from last year, but I think the green onions will go better, and I've that couple of strips of bacon to fry and crumble over the lot. And one of the hot peppers from last year too, crumbled in, with maybe some of the chopped canned tomatoes. With cubes of the dry bread mixed in to absorb the liquids and sprinkled with cheese. A few spoons of that slid over a plain herb and cheese omelette. Yes, that will work well!"

"Well, I'd ruddy well think so!" he thought, mouth watering at the thought. She disappeared again, and lovely smells started to come from inside, and then he heard her voice exclaiming about losing track of the time and she was going to be late if she didn't leave right away! Then a brief delay of no more than five minutes and she reappeared, now with her hair tight about her head, dressed in trousers, shirt and jacket, carrying that plate in her hand, a satchel in the other. She looked around, her eyes drifting past where he sat like a gargoyle in the shadows, knees drawn up with his arms encircling them, his chin resting on them, considering out loud, "well, if I'm not going to have time to eat it, maybe the squirrels will enjoy it! It surely won't keep til I get back!" She reached the tin plate up and sat it on top of the wall near the edge of the trees. "Enjoy!" With that, she was out the gate, locking it behind her, and the car started and was gone.

He couldn't believe his good fortune! {"Squirrels are just out of luck today!"} He edged his way over and snatched up the plate.No fork, of course, but his fingers made do, and he even licked the plate of all that lovely sauce. He sat there, just for a bit, looking over this little oasis he'd found, shaking his head at the unexpected meal. {"Been told I'm part squirrel, part monkey; won't question it again, not if squirrels get fed this good!"}

Time after time he visited the garden, but never stayed long on top of that wall unless she was there. He found she fed the squirrels ever so often, and things you might not expect squirrels to relish, but things he certainly did. As often as not, she'd bring out some treat, some plate for herself, and have another she'd sit on the wall in that little space at the edge of the shadows, sometimes without a word, sometimes with a "pity I haven't learned to judge just how much to fix for myself, but it would be a shame for it to go to waste." She never turned her head in his direction, and he became confident enough to eat his share while she was eating hers; it felt oddly homey, that sharing of a meal.

He felt rather foolish when it finally dawned on him that HE was the 'squirrel' she was feeding, quite deliberately, and wasn't sure how to take it, that odd kindness to someone she couldn't even see, perhaps had just felt was there. {"Well, at least it aint cause she's trying to baby ME, since she aint never even seen me - odd, though."} Then he started wondering if she'd be so willing to feed him if she knew it was him, the little thief from the Mansion. That led to wishing he could tell her, wondering if she'd want to hear how much those meals, those little snacks meant to him; hell, not just that, the companionship, the peace, all she and this garden gave him. And, being a bit of a mother hen, he started worrying she might do something like that with someone who might not just be looking for a little spot of peace, but someone, well, someone dangerous. He was tempted to speak up, warn her, but held back, thinking he'd possibly scare her just by doing that very thing. Then he thought about her reputation, all he'd heard down in the village, and figured he didn't have to worry so much about that; seems she could take care of herself quite well. Still, why she welcomed him, the unseen 'squirrel', here in a place she welcomed few others, he just had to wonder.

The trust had built enough in his mind that one day, when she started talking about tea, had gone in and come back out with a tray, two cups, teapot, a round tin, and had looked straight at him and held out her hand, invited him down to sit at the table, he did with only a little hesitation. The rest, well, the rest came in time, as his cautious and doubting spirit could allow, could accept the reality. And while she did pamper him more than a little, did cook and bake just for him, still, it was different from what he'd known before, though he couldn't have explained clearly just how. And the trust that was growing inside of him, it recognized the trust already rich in her gold-brown eyes, eyes that looked at him, inside him, accepted and liked what she saw. 

Soon the trust had grown enough he started taking off his masks while he was at the Cottage. Oh, not all of them, and certainly not all at once, and with every mask his apprehension returned, wondering whether this would be the part of him she couldn't, wouldn't accept. But each time, the acceptance was there, real and warm and unquestioning, and he came to see that she had been just as anxious, wondering if he could truly accept who she was under her masks. And the Cottage gradually became his place too, the place his heart knew peace, the place his heart was starting to think of as home.


End file.
